


Love, Joy, and Wassail

by laurie_ky



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Christmas, Holiday, M/M, The Sentinel Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurie_ky/pseuds/laurie_ky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The holidays are coming, and Blair's busy with a little project. He's a thrifty guy, too.</p><p> </p><p>Written by Laurie For 2011 TS Secret Santa.</p><p>I wrote this story after spilling some Maker's Mark whiskey on a counter (I didn't lick it up, but I was tempted).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, Joy, and Wassail

I can hear Sandburg singing off-key as I trudge up the stairs. He's bellowing out a mangled version of that Christmas song about wassail and kids going door to door in Merry Old England asking that the master of this house be blessed.

I like to think that I'm the master of my house, and I'm pondering what I'd like Blair to do to me tonight that could be considered a blessing.

Grinning, I listen as he switches to reading a recipe out loud. “Apple cider. Check. Lemons and oranges. Got 'em. White wine. Better make sure it hasn't gone bad.”

I push up my hearing, listen to Blair swigging a mouthful straight from the bottle, since I didn't hear him pour some in a glass. The heathen. I make a mental note to include not-drinking-straight-from-the-bottle on the “house-breaking Sandburg” list.

I'm almost to my door, Blair's humming that same song again, when I hear the click of the stove being turned on and the splash of stuff being dumped into a pot. I inhale deeply, smelling cinnamon and allspice, which brings back a scent-memory of Sally baking apple and pumpkin pies, and I wonder if I can cajole Blair into baking pies for the holidays.

Maybe a nice blow job would get him in an agreeable mood.

Fishing my keys out, I hear the gurgle of something being poured into a cup and then a mournful sound of dismay from Blair, followed by a giggle.

I wonder just how much wine Blair's sampled as I push the door open and step inside. The smell of rum hits me hard and I can't believe what I'm seeing.

“Sandburg, what the hell!?”

Blair lifts up his head from where he was _licking_ the counter.

“Waste not, want not, man. This stuff is expensive.” He gives the counter one last swipe of his tongue before moving back to the stove and stirring his concoction.

He doesn't look the least bit guilty for desecrating the counter. I move till I've invaded his personal space.

“You're scrubbing that counter, Sandburg. What are you, two?”

Blair smirks up at me. “I spilled the rum. And we've done worse things to this counter. Remember last week? When you spread me out like a banquet and used more oil than the Volvo sucks up in a week? And then you...

He has a point but I'm still feeling affronted, and so I kiss him to shut him up, tasting the tartness of wine and the heat of rum, the tang of apples mixed with citrus, and the richness of the spices.

I love kissing Blair, and he tastes of holidays and winter.

“What are you making?”

“Wassail. I tasted some today at the Medieval and Renaissance Fayre the English department is sponsoring -- spelled F.A.Y.R. – and decided to make some for us.”

“That's great, Chief. But you're still scrubbing the counter.”

**Author's Note:**

> Some fun links:
> 
> [Wassail Recipe](http://www.drinksmixer.com/drink4946.html) | [The Wassail Song](http://www.carols.org.uk/the_wassail_song.htm)


End file.
